


Subtle Kindness

by apostapals (apostapal)



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-29
Updated: 2016-11-29
Packaged: 2018-09-03 02:35:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8693035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apostapal/pseuds/apostapals
Summary: Prompt fill. The warden is full of weird little things, things Zevran would never suspect.





	

Most of what Zevran does, outwardly, seems lacking in real subtlety. He’s an assassin, not some Orlesian bard. He kills, often by sneaking into places, but never by pretending he is anything other than what he is.

He lacks subtlety when it comes to romance, as well. Everyone knows, early, on, what he and the warden are up to. There is no reason to hide things. Mahariel seems undaunted by their prying so, in turn, neither is Zevran. He would care if the warden were bothered, however, and this is a new feeling–one he has no intention of analyzing at first.

The warden, however, seems graced with a few subdued nuances Zevran isn’t used to. He is a quiet man, to be sure, and rather straightforward in most of his wants and needs. He communicates himself clearly, and simply, in _almost_ everything he does.

This is not the case when it comes to gifts.

“I, uh, got these for you.” he said, holding out a pair of… gloves?

They’re soft leather, well worked, and decorated carefully with tiny vines and leaves. They smelled like fresh oil and the woods; like Mahariel always does, honestly.

“You got me Dalish gloves?” he asked, reaching for them before he even finished speaking. “Where–?”

He almost, _almost_ asked where the other man found them. He stopped himself, feeling foolish. Mahariel was Dalish and they’d just been at a camp of them days ago. The warden noted his catch with a faint smile.

“I asked Varathorn to make some for me, as thanks for the Ironbark.” he answered, unprompted, as Zevran pulled them on. “Do you like them?”

There was a note on his voice, one Zevran wasn’t used to. Was that… worry? No, couldn’t be. The warden did not worry.

“They’re wonderful.” he said, flexing his hands in them. “A perfect fit, too.”

Mahariel was grinning openly when he looked up, eyes catching the firelight, and it felt as if something changed. Some sort of shift happening around them, or between them, or to them. Zevran wasn’t sure what it meant but it felt… right.

“Good, good.” the warden stepped past him, briefly touching his shoulder, and asked, “I’ll see you later?”

Zevran replied by reaching back and grabbing at the other man’s behind, getting a good handful of ass cheek and toned thigh and a laugh that sounded like honey. At least that hadn’t changed any. Good.

Whatever changed, small as it was, Zevran found he liked. Mahariel was smiling, he especially liked that. Nothing odd occurred to him until days later, sitting by the fire, when Leliana sat next to him.

“You enjoyed his gift? Good.” she hummed, more to herself than him, and Zevran glanced over with a raised brow.

“You helped him get them, did you?”

The bard laughed. “Oh no, it was all him.” she said, “It’s just… the Dalish are particular about their gifts. I wondered if you’d even accept.”

He shot her a quizzical look, fully lost, and she just laughed again.

“Zevran, he’s courting you. That’s how the Dalish do it; with gifts. Don’t you remember the couple in the camp?”

Zevran felt suddenly dizzy, eyes shooting to the gloves, and shook his head slowly. He hadn’t even… considered it.

Maker damn that man. Of course he’d go about it like this. Nothing was ever as simple as it seemed with him…

Perhaps that was why Zevran liked him. Where he was simple, straightforward, the warden only appeared to be. Under the surface, he was a mystery.

One Zevran was still figuring out whether or not he wanted all the answers to.


End file.
